The fight had lasted less than ten minutes, but the road looked like a battlefield.
Glass covered the pavement. Two motorcycles were damaged. One truck had several bullet holes through the rear panel.
Ryan's sleeve was soaked with blood from a shallow wound and the other patrol rider had taken a round to the vest, but the armor had stopped it.
“Can you walk?” I asked him.
“Yes.” He said.
“Then get behind the trucks.” I said and he nodded and Mason looked toward the trees.
“They’re running.” Mason yelled.
“Don’t chase them.” I yelled.
He lowered his weapon and then we heard another shot.
It came from deeper in the woods and a man stumbled into view.
For half a second, I didn’t recognize him. Then I saw the vest.
“Damien.” I said.
He was bleeding badly from his side, and one hand
